


The Sound of Breaking Glass

by RebeccaWrites



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Loki (Marvel), Bad Decisions, Creepy Grandmaster, Dark, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Like... WAY Worse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, More characters to be added, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Happy, Post-Thor (2011), Sakaar (Marvel), Slash, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, frostmaster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-22 13:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13765125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebeccaWrites/pseuds/RebeccaWrites
Summary: Loki falls from the bifrost and the void spits him out in Sakaar.Surviving this hostile new realm should be easier after he catches the Grandmaster’s eye but Loki soon learns that the greatest danger he now faces is the man who’s taken him into his bed.WARNING: Seriously dark Frostmaster smut ahead. Loki's going through the ringer in this one.





	1. Fighter or Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki falls. Loki lives. Loki fights.

"No, Loki."

The sickening, swelling pain behind Loki's ribs is nothing he's ever felt before. Just moments ago his chest was being crushed under the weight of Mjolnir, his bones creaking in protest and his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. This was  _different_. The pressure he felt against his heart was coming from  _inside_  his body, scratching to get out, shooting down into his guts and clawing up his throat. He can't speak. He can't  _breathe._

He can't do this.

When the realisation dawns on him he wonders how he ever thought he  _could_. The throbbing in his chest has reached his head, his ears roaring with the thrum of his heartbeat, drowning out the crash of angry waves below, but he can still hear Odin's voice.

_No, Loki._

And then it's gone. The pain, the throbbing, the ringing in his ears… and the childish notion that he could ever escape the shadow of his own brother. Because Thor's not his brother and Odin's not his father and Frigga… He can't finish that thought.

He understands now. Thor was never the problem. He was never  _in_  someone else's shadow. Loki simply  _was_  a shadow. A wraith. A less-than and a not-enough and a why-bother.

He can't do this. He's done.

He hears Thor scream but the sound is muted and distant, an echo of a relationship that no longer exists, that never really did.

He's falling. He can't remember letting go but now he's falling and falling and falling.  _Did_  he let go? Was he ever holding on?

_No, Loki._

He's done. The pain is back, rushing in through every orifice, pulsing down his nerves and squeezing his breath from his lunge, but it's okay because he's  _done_.

It will all be over soon.

* * *

Loki opened his eyes to the burning sun, sharp edges digging into his back and his nostrils filled with the scent of rot and rust. A figure appeared at edge of his eyesight, a person, and he vaguely noted their hulking size and dark red skin.  _Monster_ , a voice whispered in his ear. Hands grabbed at him from above, strong and cruel, and yanked him upright. It was that moment when Loki's mind finally clicked... He was alive.  _Damn._

He squinted around at his surroundings, taking in the mountains of twisted, colourful, nondescript material. Trash? Somewhere deep inside him, he felt an awful bubble of laughter but the vile acknowledgement of irony didn't quite make it past his lips. The hands holding him in place shook roughly, jarring Loki from his thoughts and turning his attention to the beast in front of him. Beasts. There were 5 of them gathered around, all different shapes, sizes, and colours and all of them armed. Their stances aggressive and their eyes appraising. Loki eyed their weapons with disdain. They were cheap, homemade instruments of little imagination; sharpened metal on wooden sticks, clubs of rock, and chipped blades with knotted fabric for a handle. Behind them, their ship wasn't much better. It looked to be made of scrap, though Loki vaguely acknowledges that everything around him is scrap.

"Fighter or Food?" The red creature asked. His voice is impatient and annoyed and Loki thinks perhaps that it's not the first time he'd been asked. He doesn't care to answer this time either. He looks up from where he stands, perched on top of a garbage hill, and takes in the sky for the first time. Portals litter the atmosphere above him, spilling out waste and debris. From some, the trash runs from the opening like a waterfall, while others just twist and squirm in place, occasionally spitting out some piece of galactic litter or another.

"Food!" The being behind him growled with a hard shake. Loki feels the scrape of a dull, tarnished blade on his neck as the creature drags him forward to their ship. He doesn't resist. His head hurts and his throat aches. His eyes are mercifully dry but his ribs are still tight around his organs and his whole body is heavy. He wants to sleep. He wants to fall _._  He wants not to be alive. That was the whole point, right? To end it. To be  _done_.

_No, Loki._

Loki flinches and shuts his eyes, trying to squeeze out the memory. His senses are fading in and out of focus but he understands enough to know that he'll be dead soon. This apparent excursion through the galaxy's dump pit was only a brief delay to his intended destination.

He stumbles on the uneven ground and feels his head bump against a hard edge above him. The door to the ship, he realises, though his eyes are still closed. He focuses on the dull ache it leaves on his forehead and the stinging of the beasts' sharp claws digging into his arms. When he is thrown into a cell, a tiny corner of the ship enclosed in a thick metal mesh, he lets himself fall to the ground.

Just a brief delay… he wished it would hurry up.

* * *

The Grandmaster's area was alive with energy. The crowds milled about amiably, some people finding their seats in the stands while others stood chattering in circles, bottles of cheap booze in hand. Their voices buzzed through the air in one continuous drone, occasionally interrupted by raucous laughter or the shattering of glass. Not a single person was clad in neutral colours. The cheap, rough fabric they wore in ostentatious layers were dyed the brightest shade of every colour imaginable. High above the rabble of the fighting pit and bleachers were gleaming glass boxes encasing Sakaar's elite, where the wealthy and the beautiful could be seen seeing everything. Their drinks were sickly looking cocktails every hue and their garments, though fine and fashionable, were no less gaudy than everything else. Countless spotlights flooded the area, dancing in circles and casting numerous shadows and making the arena appear fuller than it actually was. In reality, more seats were empty than not and would likely remain that way.

This was a slow night in Sakaar; a filler event in the lead up to the Grandmaster's magnificent annual Contest of Champions. The fighters performing tonight were no champions or contenders, not yet at least. Games like this were known as through the realm as Bloodletting; a little something to whet the crowd's appetite and an opportunity for the newest gladiators to show their worth. Some Bloodletting games resembled the glorious one-on-one battles of the Contest, only with young up and coming fighters instead of the great warriors Sakaar was famous for. Others were melees, where ambitious thugs might sign up under socially acceptable pretences to fight among a group of twenty or more and pray to be the last man standing. The Grandmaster was known to bestow great favour upon the winner of a melee and any survivors were offered enough financial reward to tempt the desperate and the downtrodden to participate in the grand spectacle.

Tonight's Bloodletting was a show of talent. It was a great honour for the featured fighter, usually a promising but untested contender, to present his skills to the public and to the Grandmaster. The hopeful warrior would be pitted against numerous foes at once and cut them all down to the adoring cheers of the audience. Of course, if anyone thought this display of lethal skill somewhat farcical, considering the numerous opponents were all weak, small, unarmed prisoners facing their official execution, no one spoke their thoughts out loud. Bloodletting was well known as the Grandmaster's favourite form of capital punishment.

There was little ceremony before a bloodletting event. Those in attendance knew the drill; when the Grandmaster grew bored of drinking and mingling he would simply push a button by the window of his viewing platform and an ear-splitting siren would wail out through the arena signalling the start of the event. The common people in the stands would scramble for the best views while the elite above them found their plush seats and serving staff swarmed the Grandmaster with trays of delicate hors-d'oeuvres.

Beneath the stands in the gladiator cells, Loki sat cross-legged on the floor with his back against the bars and his eyes firmly on one particular scratch on the beat-up wall opposite. Nine other prisoners shuffled meekly in the small space around him but Loki ignored them. His fingers tapped a slow, monotonous beat against the floor and he listened only to the soft sound his nails made as they hit the tiles beneath him. His breath caught when the shriek of the siren pierced the air and startled him out of his trance. It was a high-pitched, desperate, sound that reminded him of falling… of Thor's scream as he slipped from reach into the void below.

_No Loki_

Loki shook his head violently to rid himself of the words. The cell door opened and armed guards waved his fellow prisoners out. Loki stayed where he was and continued drumming his fingers on the floor. It was all he'd done since his capture out in the trash piles. He'd found that it helped him maintain the numb heaviness that kept the echo of Odin's last words at bay. He felt a strong hand clutch his neck and drag him up by his collar but paid it no mind. He focused his attention on the captive in front of him - on a small tear in the thin fabric of his tunic - and followed him out into the pit.

The glaring shine of the spotlights on his face dragged him out of his stupor once more and Loki looked around to see his means of death. He knew this was to be an execution; he'd not paid much attention to the mocking guards who'd paid his captors and brought him here but that much information had seeped through the haze in his mind.  _Finally_ , he'd thought, and let the guards' jeers flow over him like wind. He really hadn't intended his end to drag out for so long. Now, though, he sees no method of execution. Only a huge stretch of tile encased by rows and rows of seating and a rowdy, drunken crowd paying his small group no attention. Some of the others were moving away towards the edges of the pit, glancing wide-eyed out at the crowd like caged animals. Most stayed huddled together, weary, their eyes glued to the opposite gate, waiting.

And then the gate screeched open. The crowd cheered politely, clapping and yoohooing as a man emerged from the tunnel and strutted out to greet them. He was enormous! A huge, shirtless knot of bulging muscles wrapped around a seven-foot frame with a wide, flat head balancing on top of a neck as thick as Loki's waist. His skin was a mottled shade of pale purple and when he turned to acknowledge at the crowd Loki could see that his shock-white hair sprouted halfway down his back. It was more reminiscent of a mane of fur than simply the tangled tresses of a man neglectful of his appearance. Loki could not place the species; perhaps some half-breed race. He waved and blew kisses and shouted back at them as he strode into the centre of the pit, then turned his attention to something above Loki. The crowd started to hush as the tall man who had their attention bowed deeply.

Loki turned and looked up. The space behind him was mostly taken up by a glass room jutting out from the side of the arena and, in that centre of that room, sat one man on an enormous lounge. The other occupants of the room were standing or perched on high stools positioned around the edges of the space. Some of them peered curiously down at the bowed warrior beneath them but most had eyes only for the man in the centre of the room. Loki recognised the scene immediately. A king on his throne surrounded by sycophants.

The king raised his hand and the crowd roared. Loki spun around just in time to see the warrior bring himself tall once more and draw a huge two-handed sword from its sheath on his back. The group of captives he'd been standing with were even closer together now and bracing themselves. Those who had backed away when they came in were well and truly pressed against the far sides of the arena now. It took Loki only a moment to piece together what was going on. He had been brought here to die. He had no weapon. The hulking giant he was facing was swinging his sword back and forth, playfully, at his opponents. The crowd was  _cheering_! This was no simple public execution… this was a performance.  _Fighter or food_ , his captor had asked back in the trash pile. Now he understood.

Loki's magic  _thrummed_  with rage. It was the first time he'd even considered his magic since his arrival on this shit heap of a planet and the thought made him bristle. Loki WAS his magic. How could he not have thought about it in such a time as this? Alone and captive in a hostile realm. Was he truly so pathetic as to lie down and let these vulgar simpletons take his life for something so petty as  _entertainment?_  He was Loki of Asg… His thoughts veered off track but he reigned them in mercilessly. He was Loki. Trickster. Liesmith.  _God of_   _Mischief!_ He would kill them all.

With a whispered word from someone in the trembling group of prisoners by his side, they charged their foe. Loki watched, vibrating with fury, as the brave, hapless few he'd come here to die beside ran straight into the swinging arc of this purple cretin's blade. The man,  _monster_  - the voice whispered, cut down four of his small, unarmed attackers with one stroke. Loki's magic roiled violently as he felt their life forces cut from their bodies and extinguish. The blood sprayed far enough to splatter a few drops on his face and Loki moved forward.

One of the survivors of the first attack, a stocky old man with one arm, scrambled to get away only to be caught by the scruff of his neck and pulled back onto the point of the sword with a great rumbling laugh from his killer. Another had dodged to the side to avoid the killing blow but retreated as far as he could without the protection of numbers around him. A tall but thin young man Loki recognised as an Autocron, blue-black skin and piercing yellow eyes, was bleeding heavily on the ground beneath his attacker.  _Too young_ , Loki thought,  _adolescent._  Loki was almost at his opponent… just a few more steps and he could quench the bloodlust that had surged through him. The Aurocron boy twisted his body around to kick out at the monster's knee but the beast shifted out of the way and stabbed the point of his sword down into his chest.

Loki lunged. He grabbed the monster's arm and used it to swing himself up and around behind it. From that position, he could slam his elbow into the side of its neck - the momentum from the swing doubling the force behind the hit. The beast choked and flung Loki to the ground. Loki landed on his side and tucked himself into a graceful roll back onto his feet. The murky pale purple of the beast's neck started to darken where Loki's blow had landed. It wasn't laughing now.

Panting and wheezing, the beast lurched towards Loki, swinging the sword like a troll might brandish a club. Loki ducked with ease and bounded to the side. The weight of the attack pulled the monster forward and off balance but it regained its footing and came at him again. Loki dodged once more and danced further out of reach. The monster shrieked and charged. This time Loki charged too. He ran right at the oncoming sword only to shift his weight at the last moment, slide right past the blade, and bring his legs up to his chest as he flew at the beast and kicked out with both feet. The blow landed just to the side of the beast's stomach and it crumpled to the ground gasping for air. Loki didn't waste a moment. He was back on his feet and on top of his prey before it knew what was happening. His foot stomped down on the blade, trapping it in the dirt, while one hand grasped the monster's thick mane and the other found its eye and stabbed in with two fingers. Loki could feel the slick mush of the eyeball burst as he pushed through to the heavier matter of its brain. With that, he twisted his hand, hooked his fingers, and wrenched as much of the creature's insides as possible out of his skull. The body beneath him spasmed and flopped before dropping to the ground, dead.

Loki stood above his conquest, tense and panting and  _satisfied_. He shook off the slime from his hand and revealed in the feeling of victory. He'd done it. He'd killed the monsters.

Monster. Not monsters.

_No, Loki._

The roaring approval of the crowd pulled him back to his surroundings. Loki raised his head and caught sight of two men at the far side of the pit. Prisoners; men he'd sat with in a cell and followed out into the pit to meet their shared fates. He'd never looked at their faces before now but he knew without a doubt that the expression of hope he saw in their eyes hadn't been there previously.

_No, Loki._

Loki snarled at the voice and stepped back from his prey. The screams of the crowd only grew louder and Loki looked up to the great glass box where, he now remembered, the king sat on his throne. Whoever the man was, he was no longer lounging back on his wide sofa, but on his feet and standing, tall and slender, right behind the glass. Loki tried to make out the features underneath the neatly groomed silver hair but he was too far away. The man raised slowly raised his hand and Loki frowned. Was he expected to wave to the person who had sat down just minutes ago to watch him be slaughtered? He'd sooner spit on the ground at his feet. But no, the gesture wasn't a wave. He was holding something, a small flat object, in his palm. Loki gasped as a searing pain jolted out from behind his neck and sent him crashing to the ground. His muscles seized and twitched as he tried to move, to get up, but the pain chased any half-formed plans from his mind and when the darkness came, he slipped gratefully into its embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello there! This is my first published fanfic in YEARS so... exciting! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think, what you liked and didn't, whether there was anything that didn't makes sense to you... Sometimes I get a bit caught up in the words that I don't quite realise I haven't made something clear.
> 
> I know I have a whole lot of Frostmaster kink tags on this fic and there's absolutely no interaction in this chapter. Rest assured, your dubious smut starts next chapter ;p


	2. Welcome to Sakaar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki gets a taste of the other side of life in Sakaar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains sexual assault in the form of non-consensual drugged sex.

Loki awoke in a hard metal chair, his ankles, wrists, and chest strapped tightly to surface and his head dangling in front of him as far as the tense muscles in his neck will allow. He immediately regrets opening his eyes. His surroundings are too bright, and his headache isn’t quite severe enough to make him forget that he was supposed to be dead already.

“Oh look! Look, Topaz. He’s awake!”

The voice is gleeful. Loki begrudgingly raises his eyes to a trim, well groomed, older man; his hair perfectly coiffed, strange but impeccable makeup, and well-tailored blue and gold robes trimmed neatly with red. Loki knew he was looking at the individual who ruled this backwater shit pile he’d landed on.

“Well hello there, Gorgeous.”

The man smirked as he stepped closer to Loki, closing the small space between them but not bothering to lower his face to Loki’s level. No, to look this man in the eyes he would have to tilt his head or else address the man’s crotch. Loki shook his hair out of his face as he looked up to regard his captor. The man seemed amused by that. He chuckled and gently swept a lingering strand out of Loki’s eyes.

“You are something, aren’t you?” It didn’t sound like a question, so Loki didn’t bother to reply. “We weren’t expecting you to wake for at least another hour or two.”

Loki looked around for the we the man spoke of. He could hear the muffled, toneless vibrations of music from somewhere nearby mixed in with the babble of a crowd and clinking glasses; a party, Loki thought. In this room, however, there was only one other person. A stern, heavyset woman in thick black armour with white markings painted up her forehead and across her cheekbones. A personal guard, most likely. Her hair was pulled up into a tight bun at the back of her head, and she sneered down at him, clearly not as delighted by his sudden consciousness as her boss. Loki turned back to the man in charge, whose smirk had not wavered an inch.

“Who are you?” Loki almost winced at the gravelly tone of his voice. He tried to clear his throat but dissolved into a fit of coughing and hacking.

The man above him was suddenly at his side, a delicate, tall stemmed glass in one hand while the other took Loki’s chin gently and tipped his head back. It wasn’t water. That much was obvious by the fruity scent and the unmistakable fumes of alcohol. Nevertheless, when the glass brushed his lips he took a sip and was begrudgingly glad for the refreshment.

“There we go. That’s better.” The elder man cooed. Loki might have bristled at the patronising platitude, but it seemed the man wasn’t satisfied with only one sip. He tried to turn his head but the rim of the glass pressed harder at his lips until Loki relented and swallowed the rest of the concoction. It was strong. Loki coughed as the burning in his throat subsided.

“Much better. Well, now, to answer your question, darling, I am the Grandmaster of Sakaar. You may call me Grandmaster.”

The Grandmaster’s voice had a playful, indulging, quality to it that almost made Loki forgive being called darling by this stranger. Almost. His chest had a warm buzz inside that was creeping down into his stomach and Loki had to wonder if alcohol were the only intoxicating substance he’d just ingested. He shook the pleasant feeling aside and looked up at the Grandmaster through heavy eyelids. The man looked back, expectantly, but Loki had no more questions for him. He might have asked where exactly this Sakaar was, or why he had been spared execution, but he found he didn’t really care. Loki was tired. The spark of outrage that had provoked his resistance in the pit was gone, as was the bloodlust and violence that had swelled in his chest as he had danced around his opponent’s swings. The hollow left behind as these things seeped out of him was once again filled with familiar despair. If he had the energy, Loki would have groaned at his stupidity. Who cared if his death was to be a source of entertainment? He didn’t know these people and they didn’t know him. It wasn’t as if tales of his skill and bravery would have made it back to Asgard and, even if they did, Loki would rather be rotting in the ground than listen to the disbelieving scoffs of those whose admiration he had once sought. Rotting in the ground had, after all, been the whole damn point!

“The silent type, huh?” The grandmaster tutted. “I wouldn’t have guessed. You seemed a bit of a, uh, spitfire in the arena. I’d rather hoped you’d be the same in more... social circumstances.”

“What do you want?” Loki asked. It was less of a question than it was a not-so-subtle prompt to get the Grandmaster to hurry the conversation along. The Grandmaster smiled, regardless, and threw his hands up in an exaggerated shrug.

“Well, that’s not the question right now, is it?” He took a step back from Loki to regard him fully. “Well? You show up in my arena, in a bloodletting no less, and take out one of my up and comers… singlehandedly, without a weapon!”

Loki couldn’t tell if the statement was an accusation or praise.

“The only reason to go to such trouble is to gain an audience with me, isn’t it?” The grandmaster nodded in answer to his own question. “Well, now you have it, my boy. It truly was a great show. Marvellous!”

So it was praise. Loki had impressed him. Loki blamed the warm flush in his chest on the drink he’d been forced to swallow and ruthlessly dismissed the thought that it had been a long time since anyone had complimented his work.

The Grandmaster stepped back again and Loki spotted an ornately decorated chair directly behind the man. Not quite a throne, by Loki’s standards, but the symbolism was effective.

“So the… uh… real question… is what do you want? Hmm?”

The Grandmaster settled gracefully into his chair and flicked his finger at the woman by his side. Topaz moved toward her boss and pushed the Grandmaster, now reclining comfortably in his seat, close enough to Loki that their knees almost touched. Loki preferred the equal height between them but the restraints around his limbs and chest reminded him, and everyone who might see him, that he was still a prisoner of this man. Loki realised, with a small amount of relief, that he didn’t care. Once he might have raged at the humiliation or eagerly thrown himself into some delicate deception aimed at shifting the power dynamics between the two. He was too tired for that.

“I want to die."

Now, Loki thought he understood the allure of honesty: simple, weightless, and uncaring of the consequences. It was surprisingly refreshing, relaxing even, to just state what was. The truth, it seemed, was an easy thing to live by when one didn’t care about the repercussions. Was this how Thor felt when interacting with those around him?

Loki was saved from that thought by the touch of something on his knee. The Grandmaster had lent forward to play with a tear in the fabric of Loki’s trousers. Several layers of thick leather reinforced the area guarding Loki’s kneecaps, but the stitching had ripped at the seams around it leaving a sliver of skin visible behind broken thread. Loki noticed for the first time that his armour and cloak had been removed. Thankfully, his well fitted, albeit filthy, leather ceremonial garb remained in place.

“Well, that’s just _terrible_.” The Grandmaster muttered. “A terrible thing to desire, yes. Although I’m not entirely inclined to believe it.”

Loki coughed out a choked laugh and rested his head against the tall back of his chair. Of course he wasn't believed. The grandmaster’s fingers continued to fiddle with the ripped fold of Loki’s pants, but his strikingly hazel eyes did not leave Loki’s face.

“You could be dead right now if you had wished it. All you had to do was sit back and let my fighter take you down. What was his name, Topaz?” The Grandmaster waved her answer away before she’d even opened her mouth. “Oh, who cares. You’re _much_ more interesting.”

The man had stopped playing with the errant threads of Loki’s garb and his hand now held his leg, gently but firmly, his thumb rubbing circles against the inside of Loki’s knee.

Loki did nothing.

The Grandmaster smiled.

“We can take these restraints off our guest now, don’t you think, Topaz?” He lifted his hands and settled back into his decorative chair. “They were merely a precaution, you must understand,” He assured Loki. “Hardly necessary now that we know each other.”

Loki tried to remember if he’d told the Grandmaster his name. He was fairly certain he hadn’t, so clearly, his identity was hardly necessary to the man either. A small knot of tension in his shoulders softened at the thought. Loki didn’t want to be Loki right now. In fact, he’d take _Darling_ over that.

Topaz moved swiftly to his side and Loki felt the bands that had shackled him down retreat mechanically into the metal of the chair. Again, Loki did nothing.

The Grandmaster pulled a small golden bell out of his sleeve and rang it. Somewhere behind Loki, a door opened and the muted thrum of music and voices rang suddenly clearly through the room. A server dressed entirely in silver entered his view and lowered a tray of various drinks, all bright shades of red or purple or green, at the Grandmaster’s side. The Grandmaster picked up two and waved the server away without a word. He took a small sip and sighed with satisfaction as the door behind Loki closed, once again muting the noise of the crowd outside.

“Perfect.” The Grandmaster mumbled as he offered the other glass to Loki. Loki remembered the accompanying buzz of the first drink which had, regrettably, subsided and accepted the cocktail with a polite word of thanks that his mother had ingrained in him since childhood. He threw back his head and downed half the glass. Whether the Grandmaster was pleased with the show of manners or his enthusiastic drinking, Loki could not say. The man copied his action and rose from his chair.

“Lucky for you, there’s more than enough opportunities in Sakaar to keep you entertained while you, um, ponder your, uh, _desires_.” His smile left no room for interpretation as his eyes wondered across Loki’s body.

Loki felt a flash of confusion before he remembered where their conversation had started. He had told the Grandmaster he desired death. The Grandmaster, it seemed, desired something else. He barely had time to register his irritation before it washed out of him. He regarded cocktail cradled innocently in his fingers. Whatever this stuff was, it was good. He took another appreciative sip.

The Grandmaster came to stand by Loki and offered the younger man his hand. Loki left the hand dangling in the air and rose to his feet by himself. Intoxicated weightlessness clung to him as he moved and Loki found himself enjoying the sensation immensely. It was clear to him, even in this state, that his current situation was likely a dangerous one. Fetters or not, he was still a captive of this Grandmaster and, even if he escaped the man, Sakaar was unfamiliar and decidedly hostile. He was happily drunk on some of the strongest liquor he’d ever enjoyed and had no money for shelter or sustenance. He was a fugitive too, his brain saw fit to remind him in a whisper that sounded like his father.

_No, Loki_

Loki didn’t care. Odin’s voice was the quietest it had been since Loki fell. Those two words that had followed him through the void and haunted his survival seemed to simply float through one ear and out the other. He finished the drink in one gulp, only vaguely aware of the Grandmaster standing close to him. Too close. He still didn’t care.

“Come, now.” The Grandmaster plucked the empty glass from him and linked his arm in Loki’s. “Let’s introduce you to some of my friends. I just know they’ll adore you.”

Loki allowed the older man to turn him around and lead him by the elbow to the door. The music buzzing behind it fell into synchronisation with the pleasant humming in his temples and when the door opened Loki found, to his relief, that the sudden onslaught of music and chatter did not pull him from his reverie.

It did, however, sharpen his attention. The colours hit him first. The scene before him was so outlandish it could have been drawn by a child with access to more inks than they knew what to do with. The sharp lines of red and cream that decorated the walls would have been ostentatious enough, but the people crowded into the large space put it to shame. Robes of every shade imaginable draped countless bodies of all kind. Loki had attended many inter-realm diplomatic events in his life but the intelligent species that inhabited the Nine Realms held appearances mostly similar to his own. It seemed that Sakaar played host to kinds of people. Loki noted the green, pointed ears and thick jaw of a Skrull as one leapt out of the Grandmaster’s path. A tall, slender woman with high brows and immaculate flowing robes gracefully dodged the Skrull. She gave a small bow to the Grandmaster offered Loki a pleasant smile and a nod. Only the rich plume of deep blue feathers atop her head identified her as a Shi’ar. In the middle of the room, an enormous muddy-brown scaled figure towered above the other guests and Loki recognised the gills and flat reptilian nose of the Makluan race. He had read about them once, as a boy, and they had sounded so wonderfully _different_ that he had hunted through every bookstore on Asgard until he found an illustration of the swamp-dwelling creatures. Here, the Makluan seemed completely at home sipping from a goblet as big a Loki’s head and taking up an entire chaise lounge among a circle of seated guests. Loki had never before seen such a diverse gathering of beings in one place, and all of them were garbed in clothes even more colourful than they.

A tug on his elbow brought his attention back to the Grandmaster, who was introducing him to a slight-statured woman dressed in fitted panels of pewter and burgundy that was designed to allow thin stripes of her blue-green skin to peek through. The slant of her cheekbones extended higher than was common and curved out at her brow so that her head formed a pointed shape he was unfamiliar with, but the angled grooves across her forehead were marked with lines of purple skin and Loki guessed she was Viscardi. The Viscardi were widely believed on Asgard to be extinct and Loki, not for the first time, criticised Odin’s unwillingness to reverse his father’s trade ban with civilisations outside of Yggdrasil. The Nine Realms were so unbelievably isolated from the rest of the galaxy and Loki had never been able to understand how they benefited from the self-imposed ignorance it allowed them.

“...didn’t you, Gorgeous?” Loki caught the tail end of the Grandmaster’s question but was saved from having to answer it as the older man babbled on. “Just beautiful, what he did to my fighter. You really should have been there!”

“I wish I had been.” The Viscardi woman turned to Loki with an appreciative smile and addressed him directly. “It sounds as if you know what you’re doing in the arena.”

Loki gave her a smile; the unnecessarily wide type of smile that only ever deceived the most simple of fools. The woman caught the deception and matched his smile inch for inch.

“Laycella.” She introduced herself, offering her hand to him.

“A pleasure.” Loki placed a kiss on her knocked graciously.

“And this is Karlloyd! Kar, dear, meet my newest guest.” The Grandmaster dragged him sideways to meet a strikingly handsome man Loki’s own height. Karlloyd gave a truly dazzling smile, flashing a row of flawless teeth, and took Loki’s hand in a firm shake. His bronze skin shimmered from head to toe with some cosmetic powder that rubbed onto Loki’s skin where their hands touched and his loose wavy hair appeared to be dyed a similar colour.

Loki exchanged pleasantries with the man and moved on to the next guest as the Grandmaster paraded him around like a shiny new toy. It was not lost on Loki that no one ever asked for his name. They were all content introduce themselves without reciprocation and Loki was content to smile and nod and let the pleasant hum of alcohol sweep him through the greetings. He didn’t notice when the Grandmaster let go of his arm and he soon found himself reclined on a lounge listening to the outrageous stories of those around him. He laughed when appropriate, agreed with every statement, and commented humorously when a gap in the conversation required filling.

When he found himself close enough to the window to look out at the view, Loki was astonished to see only stars and the swirling portals of Sakaar all around him. What Loki had assumed was the Grandmaster’s palace was, in fact, a behemoth of a spaceship that had been circling the city since before he had awoken. A small, purple-clad Poppupian man was delighted to inform him that they were currently aboard the Commodore, the most remarkable ship in the Grandmaster’s fleet and the premier entertainment venue of Sakaar.

The charming bronze-skinned man named Karlloyd found Loki soon after and pulled him into a discussion about the resplendent social events that surrounded the Grandmaster’s annual Contest. They settled into a corner of the room sectioned off by plush sofas arranged to curve away from the wall and create, Loki suspected, the illusion of privacy. The space was large enough to seat a dozen people but Karlloyd carelessly spread himself out among the cushions and Loki did the same, laughing at some offhand comment about the importance of comfort when a party drags so long.

He really should have expected it when the man to slid closer to him. Loki had not been oblivious to Karlloyd’s appreciative glances and casual innuendoes throughout their discussion. In fact, he had returned the compliments at times, never actually considering letting the situation escalate but happy to play along. Even so, the uninhibited gesture was uncommon for a formal gathering of such size. He let it slide. Loki was too content, resting in the comfortable cushioning of his seat with the warmth of alcohol flowing through him, to bother interrupting the flow of conversation. When the other man's hands slipped under the folds of his outer layers, however, Loki excused himself to get another drink.

He hoisted himself up to make for the bar when he noticed that the whole atmosphere of the party hand changed. Drastically. Sometime between now and… Loki couldn’t quite remember when… the raucous chatter of party conversation had dissolved into decidedly more intimate interactions. The room was emptier than it had been and Loki realised some of the guests had left the great hall for somewhere else. Of those left, many had paired off and were now happily tangled together in a knot of writhing limbs and various states of undress. Some smaller groups were scattered around in similar situations, lavishing the kind of attention on each other that Loki was stupendously unused to viewing in public.

He laughed, even as his balance tipped and he had to steady himself against the wall. This was delightfully unexpected. How had he not noticed before that the guests around him were getting hot and heavy while he sat in a corner drinking and chatting and drinking some more? Loki spotted the Viscardi he’d been introduced to hours earlier; Laycella, he recalled. She was splayed on her back over an ottoman, completely naked, with her fingers entwined in the long auburn curls of another woman. Said woman was unidentifiable to Loki as her face was currently buried in Laycella’s chest sucking on a hard purple nipple.

Loki laughed again and started towards the bar when a strong arm snaked around his waist and pulled him back against a firm, uncovered, chest. When had Karlloyd taken off his shirt? If this was how much attention he was paying to his surroundings it was definitely time for a large glass of water.

“Thirsty, hmm?” Karlloyd purred in his ear. “I have something that can quench that.”

Loki found the whole situation unusually, unbearably funny and grinned, unable to contain his amusement, when he felt the man’s loins stir and press against the small of his back. He slipped from Karlloyd’s grasp with a chuckle.

“I’m afraid exhibitionism is a bit beyond my preference of drunken shenanigans.”

This was true. In the early days of manhood Loki had experimented with lustful pleasures more than was considered appropriate for a Prince of Asgard, but he had always been discreet. It wasn’t that his status demanded a certain level of decorum or that he’d wanted to keep his private life private, though both were true, but Loki simply wasn’t interested in making a spectacle of himself in public.

He needed water and food; bread perhaps, or something else heavy enough to soak up some of the alcohol in his system. He made for the bar again but was stopped by a strong grip on his arm, yanking him back and making him stumble.

“You don’t know what you’re missing. No one’s looking this way.” Karlloyd’s voice was firmer now, pathetically insistent, and Loki decided he was done with the conversation.

He turned and levelled a glare at the other man as he wrenched his arm free. Karlloyd looked shocked, even angry, Loki thought, but he didn’t make to grab at him again.

“Well, what’s… uh... what's going on here, hey?” A sing-song voice piped up from behind him and Loki spun around to face the Grandmaster. He hadn’t noticed the man in the room earlier but the Grandmaster now stood close enough to reach out and steady him when Loki stumbled at the turn.

“Too much to drink,” Loki said firmly. “I thought I could do with some water.” He gestured toward the bar crowded with glasses, some empty and unwashed, others still filled with sweet, bright cocktail, waiting to be picked up by a passing guest. Loki assumed, hoped, that there was water stashed somewhere behind the bench.

“Oh of course, of course, it is getting rather late isn’t it.” The Grandmaster clapped one hand against his shoulder and the other pressed a small metal cup into Loki’s palm. “Here. Have this.”

Loki shook his head and pushed the cup away, trying to ignore the numbness in his fingers. He had expected his mind to clear somewhat as he stood still but his surroundings were still spinning slowly in his sight. He really had indulged too much.

"No more alcohol.”

The Grandmaster laughed as if Loki had made some hilarious joke.

“Of course not. You look like you’ve had your fill.” He chuckled at him almost fondly. “No alcohol. Just a little concoction to make you feel, oh you know, _better_. My own recipe. I overdo it myself at times. I always have this on hand.”

The Grandmaster planted the cup in Loki’s fist and turned to lead them led them to the bar, the heavy hand never leaving his shoulder. Loki regarded the tiny container and took a whiff of its contents. The drink smelled of honey and a mix of spices he couldn’t place. The telltale fumes of liquor, however, were absent so Loki ignored the instinctual suspicion in the back of his mind and tipped the liquid down his throat. If it turned out to be poison then he’d soon be too dead to care. If it wasn’t… well, Loki briefly considered that that may not be such a bad outcome... for now. His body felt lighter than he could ever remember it and the urge to smile, to laugh, to simply enjoy himself was a pleasant change from… _everything_. He could not remember a single conversation he’d had throughout the night, but he knew that they had kept his attention away from other, less desirable thoughts well enough. When his mind had, on occasion, drifted back to Asgard and Thor and Odin…

_No, Loki._

Loki found it easy to bat those thoughts away and distract himself with the banality of his surroundings.

“There we are.” The Grandmaster cheered as they reached the bar. He took the small cup from Loki’s hand and replaced it with a tall glass bottle of water he’d pulled from a shelf behind the cocktails. Loki accepted gratefully and washed down the sickly sweet residue of whatever potion the Grandmaster had supplied him.

Loki felt better immediately. His surroundings settled into place as his vision finally stilled and he thought he noticed some of the numbness in his fingers subside. He looked around the room and resisted the urge to laugh again. He and the Grandmaster were the only occupants still fully clothed. Karlloyd had joined Laycella’s small group nearby and was enjoying the attention of a large, well built Kree male who was busy ridding him of his trousers. The Kree himself had not one inch of dark blue skin covered up.

“I realised quickly enough that you know how to throw a party,” Loki said, grateful to find his voice was steadier than before, “but I wasn’t quite expecting this.” And if he sounded impressed it was because he was. It took a certain type of man to revel in such debauchery yet still maintain the power and influence necessary to rule. It seemed that either the Grandmaster was well practised at walking the line between the two, or Sakaar was a complete cesspool of indecency and perversion. Loki may have misjudged this place.

The Grandmaster glowed at the compliment surveyed the room with pride.

“You’re not, uh, tempted to... partake?” The Grandmaster’s voice was laced with mischief but the man himself had lifted his hand from Loki’s shoulder and stood at a proper distance behind the bar so Loki was confident enough that the conversation would not go the same way as it did with Karlloyd.

“Oh, I’m always tempted by a bit of fun.” He laughed. It was surprisingly refreshing to speak without the expectation of propriety. Loki could skirt the limits of conversational etiquette better than anyone, he enjoyed it even, but this was better. “But this is the type of fun I prefer to enjoy with a little privacy.”

Loki noticed the occasional expectant glances they received from the otherwise distracted guests. He doubted the Grandmaster usually refrained from the fun for this long. He didn’t seem the type to facilitate the pleasure of others without joining in.

The Grandmaster scoffed good-naturedly. “I’ve never understood the urge to hide one’s enjoyment of anything.”

“It’s not hiding.” Loki insisted. “It’s being selective.”

“Oh, being selective is fine.” The Grandmaster waved his hand in a mindless gesture, “but there’s a distinct, uh, _exhilaration_ that comes with… with being adventurous.”

Loki laughed, but the sound faded from his lips as he felt a flush creep through his body. It wasn’t the pleasant warmth of intoxication, he thought. His limbs were no longer heavy and his heart was beating faster than it would when he was sober, let alone as wasted as he had been. It seemed the potion the Grandmaster had given him had done its job in that respect. Now, however, Loki realised it had another purpose. His hearing was sharp and focused, picking up the faintest moans of the other guests, even from the far end of the room. There was no breeze in the enclosed space, but Loki sensed an energy in the air that tingled as it brushed his skin, and raised the hair on his arms, his neck, his face. The unmistakable whisper of desire danced along his nerves and, desperate for some distraction, Loki finished the water in two large gulps.

“Don’t you think?” The Grandmaster’s voice was as clear as it would be if he had spoken an inch from Loki’s ear.

“Huh?” Loki asked, stupidly.

“Adventure.” The older man insisted. “Excitement. A little haphazard enjoyment of the moment is just so… _thrilling_.”

The flush swept over Loki again and he breathed in deep. The feeling of cool air filling his lungs was euphoric. It took a moment for Loki to form the coherent thought that he’d been drugged, but when he reached for the outrage that should accompany the realisation, all he found was longing.

“Selectivity has a place, sure.” The Grandmaster continued. “But then, uh, well… so does indulgence”.

Loki nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. Who would deny themselves this? What was he being selective about again? What were they even talking about?

He felt the air around him shift as the Grandmaster moved from behind the bar. His eyes tracked the man as he came closer, his body tense and alive as if expecting an attack, but his instincts weren’t calling at him to run or fight. Instead, he allowed the intense, unusual flush to sink into his bones as the Grandmaster closed the distance between them.

"Getting a bit hot, are we?” The Grandmaster teased. Loki nodded, his ears ringing with every gasp and sigh that filled the room as he caught the Grandmaster’s scent and inhaled. The man smelled of warmth and spice the slightest hint of some floral oil that had been rubbed into his skin.

Slender, nimble fingers brushed across Loki's shoulders to remove his jacket. Loki wriggled his arms free of the filthy leather with relief and closed the gap between his lips and the Grandmaster's. The Grandmaster hummed delightedly into his mouth before breaking away.

“Eager?”

Suddenly, Loki felt unbelievably stupid. He took a step back and started to apologise before the Grandmaster pulled him back close and continued the kiss. The last of Loki’s resistance shattered and he surged forward, pressing his chest, and then his hips, against the other man’s. The Grandmaster's hands found the fastenings of Loki’s tunic without breaking the kiss and pulled the laces open with ease. The leather tunic fell to the floor leaving Loki in only his green trousers and a soft black undershirt.

The Grandmaster held him back as he broke the kiss and tilted his head to suck at the base of Loki’s jaw. His hands moved slowly down his chest and pressed gently against the bulge of Loki’s crotch. Loki gasped and leant into the touch. Even through the thick leather, he was more sensitive than he had ever been. He didn’t bother holding in the whine that escaped him when the hand slid back up to the side of his hips and the Grandmaster released the suction in his throat.

Warm fingers traced his collarbone before shifting to grasp his jaw firmly. The Grandmaster held Loki’s lower body close to his while he tilted the younger man’s head back slightly, drinking in the sight of Loki's arched neck and the laboured rise and fall of his chest. Loki didn’t move, afraid that the slightest misstep would disincline the Grandmaster to continue. The Grandmaster beamed.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous, do you know that?” He whispered, thumb stroking the sharp curve of Loki’s jaw. “Truly, just... striking.”

Loki shivered at the soft brush of the Grandmaster's breath against his cheek. The hand on his jaw released him only to grasp Loki’s hips in a firm grip and lift him up onto the surface of the bar. Loki leaned forward again to catch the man’s lips with his own and felt the Grandmaster step between his knees to kiss him deeper. He’d never felt desire take over him with such ferocity before. He tightened his thighs around the Grandmaster’s waist, trying to pull him closer.

When the Grandmaster pulled back, his hand on Loki’s chest to prevent him from following, Loki noticed they were no longer alone at the bar. Karlloyd and the Kree he’d taken up with had made their way over, naked as the day they were born. Behind them, Laycella was rising from the tangle of bodies she’d been a part of, her violet eyes never straying from him. She was, in that moment, the most beautiful woman Loki had ever known. He so desperately wanted her skin pressed against his as his hands traced the curves of her body and his lips made their way down her neck.

A firm pair of lips on his own neck brought his attention back to the Grandmaster and another wave of desire pulsed through him. The crash of glass shattering against the floor rang out behind him and he saw that the Kree had swept the bar free of any drinks or serveware that had crowded it before. The Grandmaster placed a hand in the centre of his chest and pressed him backwards. Loki allowed himself to fall back onto the surface of the bar, uncaring of the slick and sticky residue left by the night’s refreshments, as the large hands of the Kree grabbed at his undershirt and shimmied it up and over his head. The air was cool and fresh on his bare skin and Loki focused on breathing it in as he felt his boots being slipped off his feet. Above him, Karlloyd came into view, his head leaning down and over Loki’s face. The man’s lips were curled up in smug satisfaction and Loki couldn’t for the life of him think why that might be. He reached up, grabbed him by the nape of his neck, and brought his lips down onto his own.

The Kree trailed his hands along the curve of Loki’s hips. A thumb dipped under the waistband of his trousers and Loki bucked into hands. He heard a chuckled statement from the Grandmaster, still stationed between his knees, but he was too far gone in his lust to catch the words. The laces of his pants came undone under expert fingers and Loki broke away from Karlloyd to grab at his trousers and push them out of the way. Before he could finish, Karlloyd had his hand under Loki’s chin and pulled him back into the kiss, his grip shifting down to Loki’s neck where it stayed, ready to keep him there if Loki tried to move away again. Loki felt his pants being pulled free and a large hand clasped his member firmly.

He moaned, a low throaty sound that reeked of desperation, but Loki was too aroused to care. Karlloyd lifted his head so Loki could see what was happening. The Kree had one hand pumping his own cock while the other tended to Loki’s. Loki writhed under his ministrations and reached out to touch the deep blue skin stretching over muscles of his stomach. His hand dropped lower and the Kree groaned as he let go of himself and pulled Loki’s palm onto his cock. Loki worked the Kree’s cock vigorously and turned his attention to the man between his legs.

The Grandmaster had, at some point, removed his clothes and now watched keenly and as Loki panted on the bar. His hands brushed lightly up and down Loki’s thighs and Loki’s free hand shot out to try and grab at him. Karlloyd’s hand still rested on his neck, pinning his head to the surface so he couldn’t reach, but the Grandmaster smiled in delight and grasped his flailing wrist to move it out of the way. He stepped forward, his erection pressing between Loki’s splayed legs, and Loki raised his heels onto the edge of the bar, shifting his ass closer to the Grandmaster and positioning himself to accommodate the older man.

In the past, Loki had always been happy to adjust his sexual preferences to suit his chosen partner. He delighted in finding each little thing that made them more receptive to him and allowing their own fantasies to play out between them. As such, he had plenty of experience allowing another man to top. It wasn’t submission; quite the opposite in fact. With what he learned of their bodies Loki could, and would, manipulate every detail of their encounters to his liking and they would beg him for more because _nobody_ paid attention in bed like Loki did.

Of course, he’d never been as desperate for it as he was now.

Another figure moved into his view and Loki saw Laycella, naked and beautiful, as she reached out to caress his chest. Loki’s hand found her waist and he trailed it up her side to cradle her breast. Laycella dipped down to kiss him, forcefully, took his hand from her breast, and moved it down between her legs. The folds of her skin there were already wet with desire and Loki slipped his fingers into her warm hole, curving them slightly to press against the spot he knew would make her his while his thumb gently rubbed against her clitoris.

Laycella moved her lips away from his and replaced them over one of Loki’s nipples, sucking it into her mouth as her fingers found the other nipple and pinched. Loki wasn’t far from mewling with lust when the Grandmaster finally stopped watching the show and moved his cock to Loki’s entrance. It was slick with some form of lubrication, for which Loki was infinitely grateful, as it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t been stretched or prepared in any way. When the Grandmaster pressed himself inside him Loki’s head jerked back and smacked against the hard surface of the bar. A quick, tight squeeze on his cock reminded Loki to keep pumping his hand up and down the Kree’s shaft and he moaned as he felt his ass open further to accommodate the Grandmaster. The stretch was exquisite, bordering on pain, but Loki’s arousal was too potent to let the sting chase any pleasure away from the sensation.

And then the Grandmaster moved. Loki lost himself happily to the feelings in his body. His hands moved expertly, instinctually, against the Kree and inside Laycella. He felt the fingers gripping his neck slide away as Karlloyd buried his knuckles in Loki’s hair and kept his head planted to the bar as he took control of Loki’s mouth with a dominating kiss. He felt the Kree’s seed splash against his stomach at the same time Laycella clamped down on his fingers in an orgasm. His own orgasm was building in his loins with every pull and thrust from the Grandmaster. Loki tried to catch his breath in anticipation. His imminent release was foiled, however, as fingers curled tightly around the base of his cock and kept him from cumming. His scream of frustration was muffled by Karlloyd as the man took advantage of his distraction and plunged his tongue deeper into Loki’s mouth. His body convulsed with the need for release but strong hands pinned him down as the Grandmaster ploughed into him faster and faster until, with one final thrust, the man came inside him and the fingers holding his orgasm back finally released him. His ears roared with blood as he came with such ferocity he couldn’t breathe. He jerked and twitched under their hands, writhing with pleasure until he’d ridden out his climax and all the strength in his body seeped from his muscles.

* * *

The surface beneath him was soft and plush and so, so comfortable. Karlloyd was gone, as were Laycella and the Kree. He didn’t remember them leaving. He shifted his head to see if they were nearby but the room he found himself occupying wasn’t the grand hall he’d been in just moments ago. This room was smaller and dark and he lay on a bed he didn't recognise. He tried to remember… What was he trying to remember again? Where was he?

There was movement above him and Loki felt fingers running through his hair.

 _Frigga_.

It took him a moment to discard that thought. He wasn’t on Asgard… He’d fallen somewhere else. A name danced teasingly in his subconscious but Loki didn’t have the energy to chase it. Wherever he was, he knew without a doubt it was not somewhere he would find his mother.

“Well, hello there.” A man’s voice sounded from somewhere in the dark nearby. “You were just… hmmm… _splendid_.”

 _Grandmaster_.

That fit better. It was the Grandmaster who sat beside him. Images flashed through his head: naked bodies, his lips on another’s, the swell of a breast beneath his hand, the ache of longing as his ass was filled. Loki felt his cock twitch and groaned as he heard the Grandmaster’s joyous laugh.

“Oh, yes. You are absolutely _perfect_!"

The fingers in his hair ceased their stroking and Loki felt himself being pulled up onto the lap beside him. His cheeks flushed and he tried to raise himself up off the other man but he was just so damn _tired_. His head lolled against the Grandmaster’s side as the man returned his hand to Loki’s scalp.

“We’re going to have so much fun, you and I.”

Loki didn’t understand what he meant, but the fingers brushing through his hair felt good so he mumbled his agreement.

“What’s your name, precious?”

“Loki.” His voice was faint and thick with exhaustion, but the Grandmaster heard him.

“Loki. I like that name. You can call me En.”

Loki leant into the hand running through his hair and let his eyes slide closed. The sleep that claimed him was the most peaceful he could ever remember.


End file.
